Unneeded
by scribe'sdaughter
Summary: Maybe it was her fault all along, she perched him so high. She was so sure, so steady of his worth. Nothing conjured in her wildest of fantasies would make him fall from her pedestal she so reverently place him upon. Nothing except, say, himself. "If you don't stop this, consider our friendship over." It hurts when your hero falls from grace.
1. Unneeded

I.

Unneeded

Maybe it was her fault all along, she perched him so high. She was so sure, so steady of his worth. His pedestal, nigh untouchable, it floated leisurely and securely above the others in her care. She thought her reasons were sound, legitimate; he so obviously deserved her recognition. It was in his image, his honor, his prowess, that she all deemed worthy. He was always so solid, so in control of his emotions, his surroundings. What woman wouldn't fall infatuated under his simmering flames of restrained power? She did not know it at the time, but her Hero Complex for the Pro-bender had already manifested itself subconsciously; its flames forever licking the back of her psyche.

At first, she was smitten by his looks, he certainly looked the part—His smiles, a rarity, melted her insides with its sincerity. His build, he was all sinewy and corded muscle suppressed under layers of cloth. His eyes, it happened the moment her wonderstruck orbs met his detached cool fire gaze. It was his eyes, his molten glare, which swallowed her cerulean ones and created the eternal hero. They were dark, intense, and unyielding. And as her polar-pup crush bloomed, his Hero Complex grew.

He played the part flawlessly too. He was frigid lava, taciturn and mysterious. Cold and calculating, he singularly devised a plan that compromised an entire equalist rally. All for the sake of his brother. She was humbled by his ferocity and his love. And she fell. Hard. Those acts of valor were never directed towards her, yet she was certain, she was sure that if she ever needed him, he would be there. Hell, he was larger than life. There was nothing that could taint his image. Nothing conjured in her wildest of fantasies would make him fall from her pedestal she so reverently place him upon. Nothing except, say, himself.

"If you don't stop this, consider our friendship over."

And he fell. Hard.

"Are you that jealous of me and Asami?"

It hurts when your hero falls from grace.

Hidden in the foliage, hidden from the monsters of reality, she crouched low. No one would find her, yet her demons caught up to her all the same. Emanating defeat with her back bowed and her slumped shoulders, she reminisced masochistically. He fell short that night, painfully so. But she couldn't help but hope and drown at the promise of his image, his honor. He was larger than life. She growled, irritated, she couldn't think straight around him! He burned any vestige of coherency she had by just one gaze. With his silent strength permeating the air around her constantly, she couldn't help but trust blissfully and ever naively so.

"I think you're pretty amazing," he whispered. His voice sounded muddled and watered down. So many hours of that one utterance mocking her mind thinned out its authenticity. It was no longer his voice, but hers.

Her eyes blurred and unfocused as memories bombarded and clawed at her peace of mind. She breathed out hoarsely, shivering spasmodically as the cool breeze wafted through her frame. Her eyes drooped lower, she no longer had the strength. Finally, she granted herself reprieve and fluttered them close. She was so tired. _I thought you were pretty amazing. _A silent sob threatened to wrench itself out of her gut but she willfully quashed the urge. _I'm stronger than this, _she thought, frustrated. She clenched her arms harder around herself, creating a barrier between her daydreams and the truth. Maybe her hero wasn't everything she needed him to be. Maybe it was her fault all along, she perched him too high.

It hurt. The man she prided him to be, noble and loyal, the image that manifested itself in her dreams, was that all conjured by her rosy cheeked polar-pup of a crush? Did she create his legend? She hoped not. He was just so _good. _Yet her disillusionment, this truth, did not lessen her ache. He brought her down, fueling and scorching her aching bones, her aching heart.

She was so tired of hoping.

A broken idol, the halo that lined his features dimmed and evaporated and she was forced to face the truth. He didn't care for her. Well, not nearly as much as she cared for him. And he was not her hero. Hell, he never was in the first place. That was misguided faith created by a naïve daydreamer. No, no, he belonged to another, he was another's. Asami's. Yes, the beautiful Asami, a hero in her own right. Selflessly and valiantly, she turned away from her father's power. She saved them, and he loved her ever more so. To him, she was larger than life.

She chuckled mirthlessly; it was hollow and painful to articulate. _They make something beautiful alright_; she had to note that grudgingly. Asami's pale, curvaceous body and her milk white visage embodied soft and maternal dispositions. It contrasted impressively against his hard lines and raw power. They were beautiful together. She looked down at her mud colored skin and dirt caked hands. Sighing resolutely, the feeling of inadequacy pervaded her senses. And her, well, she didn't need anyone. Not anymore. Memories flittered around the edges of her consciousness.

"Consider our friendship over."

Yes, she learned that the hard way didn't she? She gritted her teeth and cracked her knuckles. Steely resolve and terrifying conviction reflected through her haunted pools of thinly contained rage. Her orbs were mere glints, broken shards with edges jagged and raw.

Dangerous, lethal, beautiful.

She gave all that she could give to him. She gave until her feet bled and her eyes stung from exhaustion. Over Amon, airbending training, and Tarlock's equalist task force, she was fizzling out fast. Yet she still came every day to train vigorously as a Fire Ferret. She knew how much it meant to them. She couldn't let them down. She couldn't let him down. She gave and gave, yearning, praying, that maybe she would see a glimpse of what he showed to Asami and his brother. One glimpse, to remember why she perched his pedestal so high. She gave and gave until, finally, she fizzled out.

She was so tired.

Her brightest flame had dulled and ebbed, extinguished by its own strength. Disillusioned, she was left with clear colored eyes and the resounding echo of his ungreatness leering at everything she created of him. It hurt to acknowledge, that on that night, he shattered her. He shattered everything she longed for, everything she dreamed of. Abandoning her idol, she lethargically picked up the remnants of what he selfishly broke in stubborn resolution, using those shards of glass in order to create an impenetrable shell around herself. No one, not anymore, could ever get in ever again.

She was the Avatar after all. And Avatars don't need anyone. She didn't need a hero, she could save herself. Her eyes were hard, forged by betrayal and bitterness. She puffed out a growl of finality. Hell, when he fell from grace, she fell along with him. Breathing out wearily, she prepared herself to let go. Oh she needed the rest. Finally, closing her blood red eyes, she felt so sure, so serene despite the terror of its ease. Slowly, her knuckles unclenched. Oh, the rest was blissful.

She was done with him.

"Korra?" she inhaled sharply. Her eyes flew open, her muscles tensed. There, she came face to face with the fallen hero, the embodiment of cool fire itself.

"Mako."


	2. Her Poison

II. Her Poison

The silence hung thick and palpable in the bitter chill. Even the wind chimes that wafted sweet notes throughout the island were eerily mute this twilight. It was lore that their notes would stave off bad intentions, so long as the chimes still tinkled, if only albeit softly. Tonight, they hung limply, deadened and petrified by her thirst. She sneered sardonically, oh this night was written with bad intentions. Korra was done with playing peacekeeper.

She wanted to hurt, she wanted to maim. Hell, she wanted to burn. Just like his eyes.

She was coiled as tight as a viper wary of a threat it couldn't kill. And she couldn't very well kill him. Clenching her jaw, she subconsciously widened her frame and straightened her posture, attempting the guise of a more confident, stronger opponent. Adrenaline rushed forth, tainting her blood stream and milking her like a veteran warrior. She welcomed the aggression. Her oceanic depths dilated, registering more light rays within the atmosphere. She was primed and ready for a fight. Through all of the minute changes within her trained body, hypersensitive and thirsty for a beat down, she failed to register one thing.

Korra was afraid.

Her throat constricted and her eyebrows bowed apprehensively. She was afraid. The thundering pounding of blood pumping through her veins overshadowed her erratic exhalations. Her body threatened to collapse. A strangled cry was successfully held at bay. No, she would not show weakness. Not to him.

She reigned in her fluttering heart and her panicking thoughts. Swallowing her fears, she burned them in the bowels of her fiery soul. Fear, what fear? Avatars don't get scared.

"What do you want?" Aloof and to the point, she wanted this tête-à-tête short and poisonous.

He flinched. She caught the slight movement and inwardly smirked. Sluggishly, it morphed outward, deceiving and biting. Grins like those—they're frequently seen on corrupt emperors who utilize attrition to gain the spoils of victory. That saccharine sneer was not right on her. He shivered involuntarily, it seemed grotesque and unnatural plastered on her cherub like visage. Mako flinched again, he knew of her intentions—she was hungry for gore. He looked at her Cheshire smile and frowned. No, not like this, he didn't want it like this.

She was just too good.

Her jaw ticked as he fidgeted. The crowd within her roared in bated anticipation. He licked his lips apprehensively. "I—"

"Get to the point." She cut him off. The inner competitor within him bristled. She quirked her eyebrow in challenge.

Grinding his teeth in heated patience, he pounded his pride into submission. No, this was for her. This was all for her. Steam puffed out of his nostrils, increasing the already tense and humid atmosphere.

He refused to take the bait.

"I was looking for you" he spoke softly. A thousand interpretations could be spun by that one utterance; any heart would be screaming in silent frustration from his anticlimactic confession. His eyes were open that night, raw, exposed. Gleaming droplets of honey, they searched her globes for more, attempting to crack her façade, imploring her to read in between his statement.

She refused to take the bait. Hurriedly, she squelched the fragile hope under buried ashes. Her deadpanned gaze lashed at his already shoddy excuse to see her. "And…" she pressed him to continue.

He stuttered, glad that the liquid onyx of the night obscured the frustration evident on his face. Clearing his throat, "are you cold?"

Unmoved and unimpressed, "I'm a firebender."

Mako laughed forcibly. The strangled noise shattered the quiet liquidity of the night. Self-consciously, he rubbed the back of his neck and unknowingly stepped back. Victorious, yet oddly disappointed, she noted how easily he had given up on her. Why was she even hoping that he would fight for her? He would never fight as ferociously or as desperately as she would for him. She didn't need him. _Stop that, _she seethed, _stupid girl. Yea, so what, he let you down, cry more, _she internally berated. He wasn't her hero.

"Why are you here?" she pressed. Her face was masked from emotion, not belying even a hint of her warring thoughts. Steadily, she studied him, her sea foam orbs capturing his in a steady snare. He didn't know what she was looking for, and he was still unaware when she broke her Mesmer's trance. Breaking eye contact, she looked down at her hands and chuckled. He was suddenly bombarded with disappointment; Mako doubted she found what she was looking for.

He'd never seen her like this. Her eyes, they always searched his for reassurance. Now they were sealed tight, no vestige of light escaped from underneath her stormy waves.

She stopped abruptly, her hell bent gaze boring into his uncertain ones. "Look Mako, if you didn't come here for anything important, get out of here." She was so close, her fury tickled the back of her throat. Just one more push.

He stood there, unsure and, for once, afraid. Of her. She seemed so ready, so hungry for something. Something dark. It was his turn to observe her. Even crouched, she looked intimidating. With hackles raised and gleaming eyes, she exuded feral nature. She looked so strong. She looked so lonely.

"I miss you," his voice carried like a rustle through the leaves. Soft, barely spoken.

The breeze had finally granted the stale night salvation, stirring the wind chimes from slumber into what seemed like a racket at the time. Though in reality, they merely stirred softly in the evening caress.

"Are you alright?" his baritone voice dropped lower. These days, she constantly made certain that she was beyond his grasp; her neck always tilted towards the freedom of those cumulus clouds, her mind always immersed in meditation. He could never reach her. Despite her bristled spikes and feral scowl, she looked so despondent, so broken. All he knew was that he wanted to save her.

"That's it?" she inquired. He knew she was throwing barbs and was keen to notice that she completely omitted to answer his concerned statement. "You miss me?" she mocked. Mako just stared at her resolutely. He could sense her malicious intent. He was prepared for her. "You miss me."

Oh, she needed this.

A laugh bubbled forth and she outright guffawed. At him. He steeled his resolve. This was all for her. Unknowingly, she ripped the bait clean off its hook. Her bloodlust for a fight finally boiled over, eyes twinkling in hunger. Ah, there was nothing like a good verbal ass whipping to sate and mask her pain.

This night was ridden with bad intentions.

"Thank you but no thank you. Although your question sincerely does warm the cockles of my heart, I—"

"You didn't answer my question." His molten embers watched her motions carefully, unyieldingly. It unnerved her.

"I was going to answer it until you so rudely cut me off" Korra huffed. Those golden eyes searched her defiant ones. She was trying so hard to bury her fear.

"You still didn't answer my question."

She exploded.

"You know, I don't need you to babysit me," she sneered. Eyeing the height disadvantage, between them, she abruptly sprung up. She took a step forward, he took a step forward, she took a step back.

"You still—"

"I know!" she roared. Reigning in her lapse of concentration, she paused and slowly composed herself. Inhaling huge quantities of salty sea air, it gradually numbed all sensation within her turbulent visage. Finally poised and vehemently stomping down her urge to punch him, she spoke as levelly as possible. "If you're asking if I'm fit enough to fight against those no good equalists and protect your brother and precious girlfriend if need be, then yes. I can fight until hell bloody freezes over if you need me to." He just stared at her, a frown marring his handsome features.

She kept on, "I'll keep fighting until the city's burned down, Amon has won and my bending's been ripped away from me. That's what you want right?" She wanted to maim. She wanted to burn.

"Korra—"

"No," she yelled. "And you know what? I don't need this." She sensed his outburst of denial before he could conjure the words. "In fact, I don't need anyone. The Avatar doesn't need anyone," she spat. "Most of all," she egged on, "I don't need you." Korra jeered triumphantly, the viper preened. Venom dribbled down its coated fangs, glistening maliciously in the twilight.

Gathering her wits, she quickly dusted herself off and departed away as hastily as what one would not consider running away. She's never run from anything in her life. And she'd like to keep it that way. However, a steady hand on her forearm halted her movements. Secure and reassuring, Korra mentally jumped at the heated sensation of his touch. He was always so warm.

"Korra," he quietly pleaded.

"It's okay Mako. Stop pretending that you care." She looked at him soberly, "It'd save us both the grief yeah?" peering over her shoulder, they made one last observance of each other—her pouty lips, the churning skies within her stormy irises; his molten heat, his aristocratic nose. They milked one another as if, from this moment on, it was never going to be the same again.

"You're not my hero Mako." The fluttering tinkling of the wind chimes had long ago ceased. The island was once more shrouded in silence. She wanted to hurt him as much as he had burned her. She reveled at his grief stricken visage, her venom tainting his resolve. The truth bombarded both of them instantaneously and painfully. She couldn't see clearly anymore, but he could. He wanted to save her. For everything he was worth, he wanted to save her.

"You never were." A lie; yet he fell for it all the same but stubbornly, he refused to let that consume him. Mako was biding his time. He had to. That night, it was all for her. Inhaling sharply, he let go.

Never looking back, she fled.

He didn't go after her.


	3. Find Me

III. Find Me

He was losing her.

He was a fool not to take notice any sooner. Like the soft ebbing and pulling of the waves, she pulled away gently, unknowing and unassumingly. Yet he noticed. He noticed everything. He was losing her.

It showed in her smile. The once cocky and raucous teeth glaring grin morphed into a quiet and close lipped grimace. She was always eager to avoid him with a cartridge load full of excuses. She'd apologize hastily, lips curled into a painful quirk and fled away.

It showed in her laugh. Carefree and obnoxious guffaws slowly became asphyxiated and silenced. She was losing hope, her optimism held hostage by her circumstances. And she was yielding to them. She could not afford to be naïve. She could not afford to be a teenager. The world needed their Avatar and the Avatar did not "guffaw." Mako loved her guffaws.

The most painful realization, the one that brought the proud firebender to his knees begging, praying for respite; the one that left his heart aching to hold her—Her eyes. Her turbulent and triumphant cerulean tides quieted and lulled, as if tamed by the melody of a siren's song. But she was Korra. She could never be tamed.

Yet the world begged to differ. There she was, aloof and battered by nightmares. Solemn. Withdrawn. It happened so naturally, how she so fluidly and deceptively extracted her essence from his life. He almost prided her stealth and prowess. Almost. Mako clenched his fists, fire licking and singing away the under flesh of his palms. _Good, _he thought, a little self-inflicted punishment would only strengthen his resolve.

A breathy protest bubbled forth from the bed next to him. Even in her sleep the distress of carrying the weight of the world creased her cherub like visage. His molten gaze outlined the delicate curves of her button nose and cupid's bow. He frowned at the scars that dappled her skin—stains in the canvas of her innocent beauty. He reached out his palm, intending to cup her face as a lover should, but thought better. No, he hurt her enough with his mixed actions. Instead, he grazed his thumb across her knuckles, ceasing the urge to kiss each finger until she woke. Staring at her battle stricken visage he was sure.

For any vestige of goodness left within his cynical and crumbling heart, he was not going to let her lose herself.

For once, he allowed himself to love her.

The gestures started small, almost insignificant really—

A warm hand steadied the small of her back.

Stairs: the bane of her existence. She fumbled and cursed ungracefully as she tripped again for the nth time. Still, his hand remained firm, his silent guidance grudgingly appreciated.

"You need to be more careful Korra! You're recovering, not recovered. You can't just fly up these things," he grunted irritated. The spark in her baby sky eyes flickered in the glistening dew of the morning chill. He cherished that flare with all of his being. Slowly but surely, she was starting to find herself again.

"Calm down Cool Guy. It's not like I'm pregnant," she teased good naturedly. The quirk and dimple to her grin were similar, reminiscent of the fearless one before her capture. It was…captivating. She failed to notice the scarlet blush that flowered across the poor man's face. _Pregnant? _The thought of a "pregnant" Korra because he—No! That's absurd. He swallowed, the sudden increase of temperature made him uncomfortable.

Every day after that day, an insignificant day really, he was determined to try and bring her back from the brink.

He tried. Agni knows he tried. But no one could make her laugh as hard as Bolin. One more try. After a series of failed attempts, Mako was willing to trump his record for good. This one was gold. After all, he loved her guffaws.

Their walk was going well: peaceful and undisturbed. They walked alongside one another as respected comrades, friends even, their verbal spats forgotten. One would even tentatively call it pleasant. Yes, a pleasant stroll. Together. Alone.

Though for once, the two teenagers did not pay notice. So many more matters clouded their thoughts these last few days. Thoughts of war. Thoughts of destruction, of death. Thoughts of never seeing one another again. Those thoughts stole away their moments of haggard rest under downy covers, coughing and gasping for breath.

There were thoughts of being together. Thoughts of loving another. Those moments they awoke, terrified, ashamed and attempting to banish such taboo notions.

But for once, the two teenagers did not pay notice, their walk sending them into a wary sort of serenity. They did not pay heed to their thoughts, their dreams, their future. Just now. They just wanted to remember just now. Please, just give them now.

The vibrancy of the island so filled with hope lulled their torrent minds. They inhaled the brilliance of living, the caress of the breeze playfully toying with their senses. It was calm. It was refuge before destruction.

Today, he would make her laugh just as hard as Bolin. He was determined. He loved her guffaws.

He cleared his throat .

"So what do you call a nonbender's favorite cookie?"

She stared at him bewildered and slightly afraid. Startled that the normally taciturn firebender was actually attempting to, well, to be the opposite of taciturn. She felt a loss for words.

"I'm sorry what?"

He blushed and mentally winced. His sudden urge to crawl into a little ball and silently vanish made him huff in embarrassment. No, he refused to give up so easily. Staring at her alarmed state, he pressed on. "What do you call a nonbender's favorite cookie?"

"Is this supposed to be some sort of joke?"

She always found a way to make him feel like an idiot.

"Korra just answer the question," he bit out behind clenched teeth. She wasn't making this easy, but he was determined. Today, he was going to outdo Bolin.

"Alright, alright cool it cool guy." She paused. She just told guy to cool it. She giggled at her own pun. Man, she cracked herself up! His jaw ticked in impatience. She looked over and quickly cleared her throat. "Alright I give up. Pray tell, what is a nonbenders favorite cookie?"

She always managed to make him feel like an idiot.

He cleared his throat for the punch line, steeled himself and let that baby go: "cinn-Amon."

The wind howled in agony.

Deadpanned, "I don't get it."

His nostrils flared, "what do you mean you don't get it? That was it. That was the joke, the pun. That—That was gold," he growled.

"Cinnamon…" she tasted the thought on the tip of her lips. "I don't—"

"It's a spice for Agni's sake! A spice!" the shrill volume of his shriek caused an embarrassing crack in his voice that quickly prompted an end to his rant.

She paused and thought. Hard. Seconds turned into minutes. And more minutes. And more, moments that surpassed minutes.

"Korra, if it's hurting you to think that much…"

Her face morphed into one of pure elation, her eyes starry and wide as a new born babe's. "I get it!" She crooned triumphantly.

"You get it?" he replied cautiously optimistic. A tentative smile was itching to secure itself onto his face. Just seeing her so, so full of joy. It soothed him.

She began. "Cinnamon. It originates from the Fire Nation. So nonbender's would _want _to eat a cinnamon cookie in order to gain firebending. That way they learn how awesome bending is! Yes! Yes!" Her howls scattered the flying lemurs into the cloud clotted sky. Even Naga from the porch of the Air Temple entrance lifted her head in alarm from the vibrations of her owner's ecstasy.

Mako wanted to die.

"Amon, Korra! Amon."

She paused and eyed him confusedly. Stubbornly, she held onto her conspiracy theory. Obviously nonbenders would want to be benders. Bending's awesome.

"Amon Korra, Cinn-Amon. Get it? Because they're nonbenders, and nonbenders and Amon…" he trailed off embarrassedly.

Korra blinked. Mako burned holes at the termite ants littering the foliage.

"That—that wasn't very funny."

Mako sighed dejectedly. If only—

His ears picked up a miniscule shuffle. And then a hiccup. Then a snort. And then a snicker. A giggle, cute at first. It then rapidly mutated into an outright raucous guffaw that deafened the animal life within a ten mile radius. He turned his attention away from the termite ants and bashfully peaked back to her form.

Her eyes were scrunched tight in a manner that seemed almost painful. Her cherub cheeks were stained with what seemed to be cherry-lychee juice: raw and pink and adorable. Her dimples created indentations that compelled him to stare longer, to memorize harder. What was most captivating: Her smile. Beautiful and glaring and blinding and breathtaking. All loud, all obnoxious, all Korra.

He was lost in her.

And he allowed himself to fall in love with her. Just this once.

His gestures started small, almost insignificant really.

Still and quiet. Their eyes glazed over and tilted skywards, to the mystery of this hallowed eve. Stars that yearned for their gaze winked and vied for attention, coquettes in the hush of the goddess Nyx. It was quiet for once.

This time, it was her who shattered the stillness.

"Why?"

Such a mockery. Such a plead. Such a pain.

So many instances, so many forms, so many answers. One question, asking nothing and everything.

Mako waited for her.

"You—" she paused, frustrated. "You're being so nice," she stated simply. Lame. He flinched involuntarily. She chugged on. "I mean, you're following me around everywhere, and you're asking so many stupid questions, and you're cracking lames jokes—"

"Are you done yet?" He asked irritated, his eyes shooting lightning bolts into the milky night.

"Sorry," she stammered. "You," she paused self-consciously, "you care for me."

Mako opened his mouth to protest, she stopped him with a look.

"Too much. You care for me too much."

"I," he opened his mouth about to refute her claim, "I do." His back slumped in acknowledgement.

"Why?"

He didn't answer for a while, each staring at the nothingness of space, cocooned within the comfort of each other's warmth. She waited for him.

"I won't lose you."

"What—"

He pushed on, "I won't let you lose yourself." Finally, they tore their gazes away from the sanctuary of the evening ink. Head on, they faced one another. Not in disparity, in fact the opposite, in hopes to understand.

Korra stared at his steadfast gaze and his unblinking determination. He wanted to save her. They bored into one another's eyes, searching, allowing their souls to be read, learned. His baritone voice echoed in the breeze, _"I won't let you lose yourself." _

She sighed and broke the bond. She couldn't take the inferno he created in his wake; his burnished umber melting the chains of her heart, the cage of her soul. In dismay but never at loss, her resolve steeled itself to reveal her most closely guarded secret.

Licking her lips tentatively, she reached for his face yet went for his hand. They intertwined instantaneously. "You," she stopped and shook her head. Her crystalline dew drops cooling and healing his scorching irises, pleading for him silently.

"I will always lose myself in you."

He stared at her penetratingly, searching for deceit. What he found was earnest and truth. And pain. And love. His calloused palm moved on his own accord, intending to cup her face as a lover should. They were not lovers, but oh, the ache to be seared his flesh. Please, just give them now. Just now.

They pulled closer, gravitating towards their need, their want. They resisted the resistance of sanity, of reality. Just this once.

Closer.

He breathed in her essence.

Closer.

He lost himself in her.


End file.
